


nor the likes of the parts of you

by malfaisant



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Laurence still felt somewhat guilty of the nearly opulent state of his travelling quarters, he had learned to reason to himself that to make use of it was the better alternative, given that he could not refuse the excessive hospitality anyway, and Tharkay had learned to restrain himself to teasing Laurence about it only occasionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nor the likes of the parts of you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Grab Your Coat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793417) by [captainshellhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/pseuds/captainshellhead), [vibraniumstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibraniumstark/pseuds/vibraniumstark). 



> the people to blame for this fic's existence know who they are, and you should all feel bad.

It was one of many nights when neither of them could sleep, and they were each other’s warm company against the encroaching cold. These were precious few hours, stolen away, that would grow only all the more precious as they neared Moscow. But Tharkay had seemed to have grown a preternatural sense of when such thoughts occur to Laurence, as he always chose those moments to pull him close, to dispel those worries with his mouth, drive him to distraction with his hands, until Laurence could barely remember even his own name.

On an unrelated matter, if Laurence still felt somewhat guilty of the nearly opulent state of his travelling quarters, he had learned to reason to himself that to make use of it was the better alternative, given that he could not refuse the excessive hospitality anyway, and Tharkay had learned to restrain himself to teasing Laurence about it only occasionally.

“They are gifts freely given after all,” said Tharkay. He had stood from the cot to stretch his legs, taking the thin blanket with him, wrapped loosely around his hips to cover his nudity. He made his way to the writing desk nearby, and lit the small oil lamp beside a pile of half-written letters.

Laurence sat up in his night-shift and watched the flickering candlelight cast a play of shadows on Tharkay’s figure, tracing the planes of muscle on his back. “But they are not freely given at all,” he replied, “if they’re given out of some misplaced sense of obligation to me.”

Tharkay carded his fingers through his mussed hair. “Spoiling you is the only means by which they can spoil Temeraire, and I’m sure you'd not begrudge them so much,” he said. He turned back to the writing desk, next to the chair where Laurence had set his flying coat earlier that evening. “Particularly when the gifts you receive are so lovely.”

“I would happily make do with gifts half as lovely,” said Laurence dryly. He watched as Tharkay ran his hand curiously over the black leather coat resting on the back of the chair, dark blue silk padding the shoulder and elbows. Black thread traced subtle, scalloping patterns on the cuffs, almost like dragon scales. It was Mianning’s most recent gift, but Laurence would admit he rather liked the coat, it being more reserved than the usual item. “Hm,” Tharkay said, before he picked up the coat and put it on.

“Clever,” said Tharkay, turning to face Laurence. “The pleating of the coat eases the drawing of a sword,” he continued, half-miming a sweeping motion. Then he held up one arm to examine the subtle embroidery on the sleeves.

Tharkay wore the coat unfastened, his chest bare, his throat showing where a neckcloth usually would be. The sharp cut of the shoulders made it so that the coat was just slightly over-large on Tharkay, hanging just loosely enough on his frame to make him look smaller, more delicate than he actually was.

Laurence did not realise he had been staring so intently until Tharkay looked up and caught his eye. His mouth went suddenly dry.

“Will?”

Laurence met his gaze, and Tharkay must have seen something in his expression, as the questioning look on his face turned to one of mild surprise, then to one of...something else. The corner of Tharkay’s mouth twitched, as though he barely held back a smile. He tilted his head and asked innocently, “Do I look the part, dressed like a prince?”

Laurence would’ve liked to say something clever, something appropriately cutting, but instead he leaned forward the scant distance between him and Tharkay to grab at his sleeves, pulling him to the edge of the cot. He went up on his knees onto Laurence’s lap, straddling his waist, as Laurence untied the blanket from around his hips. Tharkay draped his hands loosely on either side of his neck, and did not bother hiding his smile now, a wide, open grin that Laurence could feel against his mouth. Laurence ran his hands along Tharkay's side, underneath the coat, coming to a rest around his waist. His thumbs pressed on the jut of Tharkay’s hipbones as he explored his mouth, deep, languid kisses that left Laurence feeling light-headed.

“You are—utterly—” Laurence tried to express his indignation between kisses, but did not manage much more than that as Tharkay twined his fingers in Laurence’s hair to pull his head back, setting his teeth on the column of Laurence’s throat. Laurence moaned, his grip on Tharkay’s waist tightening, and he could feel Tharkay’s cock against the flat of his stomach, already mostly hard. He felt Tharkay falter for a moment, muffling a groan against Laurence’s collarbone as Laurence took them both in hand.

Tharkay began to thrust into Laurence’s grip, slowly, deliberately. “If I had known it would affect you so greatly—does it please you to see me wear this, wearing your clothes, as though to mark me as yours—”

Laurence cut him off, thinking that to kiss him was his best chance at retaliation. Tharkay moaned into his mouth, as though to say that he knew exactly what Laurence was about, and was merely allowing it. The noise shot through Laurence like a jolt of electric current.

Then, to Laurence's brief confusion, Tharkay turned away, and began to fumble about on the mess of the cot behind Laurence, seemingly searching for something. He pulled back a second later and pressed a small bottle into Laurence’s hand, having found where they had last set the oil.

"Here, quickly—" 

Laurence did not need to be told twice. He poured the oil onto his palm, and pressed two slick fingers into Tharkay. Impossibly, he felt his face grow even hotter, as he realised how Tharkay was still stretched from their earlier exertions. It was the work of only a matter of moments before Tharkay was breathing heavily, panting against his neck as he urged Laurence to hurry.

Laurence usually had far more restraint to resist, but he could find none of that restraint now. He thrust his hips upwards, and Tharkay took him easily, taking him nearly to the hilt. Laurence gasped at the tight, enveloping heat of it, and forced himself still, but above him Tharkay had set his weight down on Laurence’s hips, so that Laurence was buried even deeper inside him.

Tharkay pushed his palms flat on Laurence’s chest, urging him on his back as he braced his knees on the bed. He rode Laurence like that, pushing down on Laurence’s chest, grinding against him, slow, rolling motions of his hips that Laurence was certain would soon drive him mad. Even in the dim light, Laurence could see the flush on Tharkay’s brown skin, see his pupils blown to black.

“Tenzing—”

With a grunt, Laurence set his hands back on Tharkay’s hips and pulled him down as far as he would go, and began to fuck him in earnest, quick-sharp movements of his hips. He knew Tharkay was close, knew that neither of them would last long with the pace they had set. Tharkay closed his eyes and fell forward on top of him, his hands burying in Laurence’s hair, and then they were kissing frantically, a sense of unexplained urgency overcoming them both. This close, Laurence could see the beads of sweat clinging to his eyelashes, the soft curl of his hair damp against his forehead.

When Tharkay came, Laurence could feel the shudder course through Tharkay’s body, as he spent himself on Laurence’s stomach. He felt Tharkay tighten around his cock, and he could only manage a few short, erratic thrusts before his own orgasm overtook him, like something clawed from deep within him, from somewhere in the vicinity of his heart and lungs, that for a moment all he could see was white.

It took marginally longer after for Laurence to return to some semblance of coherence, but he discovered, at least, that Tharkay was in much the same state. Tharkay was still resting bodily on top of Laurence when he came to, a comfortable weight, his face buried in the crook of Laurence's neck, his breathing still somewhat labored.

After a while more, having oriented himself to some degree, Tharkay pulled himself upwards, his elbows on either side of Laurence’s head so that they were face to face, his expression unreadable. He put up a hand to draw Laurence's hair away from his face.

Laurence cleared his throat. “You should take off my coat, before you ruin it so.”

“You didn’t seem to have too many complaints before,” Tharkay replied, a hint of a smile about the set of his mouth.

“Tenzing, it is my _only_ flying coat.”

Tharkay shrugged, looking distinctly unconcerned. “I’m sure they would oblige to procure another one for you. The difficult part, I believe, will be in explaining where your first coat had gone off to—”

Laurence kissed him before he could continue, swallowing a laugh into his mouth, as the best means were often the simplest, and engaging Tharkay in an argument had always only seemed to encourage him anyway.


End file.
